


What happens in Lounges

by LadyEm



Series: Em does JB Week 2019 [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-08 07:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyEm/pseuds/LadyEm
Summary: When Brienne Tarth is transferred to a new office, she has an interesting meeting in the frequent flyer lounge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m trying something really new for me – I’ve never written an AU before, much less a modern AU.  
This is for J/B Appreciation week – I will write as much as I can, but please don’t expect something every day. Monday’s prompt is Spring /”new beginnings”.

Brienne Tarth scowled at her phone. At just over 20 per cent battery strength, it certainly was not going to last until her plane took off, much less help her to find her way to her hotel when she arrived in Lannisport. Her Kingle battery was already worse than useless; she was going to have to try to sleep on the plane, or watch whatever godsawful movie they had seen fit to add into the “entertainment” system. She turned the phone off with a sigh.

Her company had paid for access to the frequent flyers’ lounge, which was a bonus, as she had come straight to the airport after her last meeting. The MD’s secretary Margaery had promised her that she’d call to arrange to get Brienne on an earlier flight – “as you’re starting a new life on the other side of the country, we’ll try to get you there as soon as we can,” but her boarding pass stubbornly read “22:45” no matter how many times she checked with the desk. That meant she was still on the redeye – a two hour flight, arriving a mere 15 minutes (local time) after her departure. After being in back-to-back meetings since 8am, she had been optimistic that she might get in a little earlier. At least the food was free in the lounge – although the crowds of people had eaten most of the cakes, there was still a buffet of salad and pastas to choose from, as well as a few Dornish pastries. From their chatter, it seemed that most of her fellow loungers were off to Essos for some sort of festival – or just to get drunk and lie on the beaches for a week or two.

A pair of denim-clad knees interrupted her view of the busy lounge. “Is this seat taken?” a male voice asked. “Only there don’t seem to be any other free armchairs in the place.”

Brienne looked up, into the face of what was possibly the most handsome man she had ever seen. Golden blond hair that was maybe a trifle too long for fashion, the beginnings of a scruffy beard, and a set of gleaming, ten thousand dragon teeth (as Brienne’s dad was wont to describe them, after paying for orthodontic work during her teens). The man wore a white t-shirt with a half-buttoned dark blue shirt over the top. He had one of those wheeled carry-on bags that people sometimes carried when they were too cheap – or in too much of a hurry – to pay for checked luggage and a jacket drooping from where it was tucked under his right arm – a right arm that, Brienne noted, was currently strapped to his body in a tight sling.

“No –” she said, flushing a little. “Go ahead.”

The man sat down with a sigh, draping his jacket over his wheeled carry-on. “That was lucky,” he said, “I think I got the last seat in the place.”

Brienne shrugged.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on my bags while I get a drink?” he asked. She nodded her agreement as he went to stand. “And can I bring you back something too?” He looked expectantly at her empty glass.

“Just a soda water,” she said. “Thanks.” Absently, she watched him go over to the bar and collect her bottle of soda water, then turn a glass upside down over it. He brought it over to their shared coffee table before returning to collect a can of ginger ale, doing the same with his glass. As he placed it on the table, he frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask whether you wanted ice –”

Brienne shook her head. “This is great, thanks.”

He grinned at her. “I’m Jaime, by the way.”

She nodded. “Brienne.”

“It’s good to meet you, Brienne. What takes you to Lannisport?”

She looked at him in shock. “How did you know I –”

“I surmised it,” he replied smugly, pausing for effect before continuing, “You don’t look like you’re one of the Essosi crowd, and that’s the only other flight out of here tonight.”

She looked around the room at the other passengers – a mix of Essosi returning from their holidays and locals headed to some holiday destination or another. A few were even wearing ‘dragonskin’ jackets, and scruffy t-shirts labelled “souvenir of flea bottom”. One woman was dressed in a tight tank top that read “I went to King’s Landing but I didn’t land any kings.” At least they had the grammar correct, Brienne thought.

She smiled tentatively. “I’ve been transferred to Lannisport for work, for the next six months.” She was cautious with what she said about her job – as a woman living alone, she knew that security precautions were not only practical but sensible – but she wasn’t getting any more than ‘overly friendly, probably slightly tipsy, mostly harmless’ vibes from Jaime. “And besides,” she thought to herself, “with a broken arm, I’m sure I can take him.”

He leaned forward to open the can of ginger ale, then frowned slightly. “Would you mind –” he gestured with a frown at the arm that was strapped into the sling.

Popping the lid, she poured the fizzy drink into his glass. He reached for it, toasting her. “Here’s to new beginnings, Brienne of Lannisport.”


	2. Summer / Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime meet again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From "I don't know whether I will write any more of these" to "Oh, I have a story mapped out, the first three chapters finished, and there will be seven chapters in total" didn't take very long at all really.
> 
> Thank you for the encouraging comments, shout-outs on Tumblr (I am LadyEm-Fandom there) and of course the kudos. I hope that you will continue to enjoy this Modern AU story.
> 
> The setting for chapter 1 was inspired by a couple of upcoming work trips, where I will be in 18 airports over a 6-week period. If only there were someone like Jaime to pass the time with!

Brienne hurried onto the plane, automatically taking a quick inventory to make sure that she had everything. Her work laptop, wallet and other personal items were all in her ratty old backpack. Her phone was in the pocket of the tailored pants she wore for work – now looking rather creased and crumpled after her long wait. Her flight had been called quite late – Jaime had been whisked away by a flight attendant who couldn’t seem to believe his luck, patting his arm a few times, offering to carry his jacket, then walking behind him to – quite obviously – check out his rear. The man had to wear the strange sand-coloured chiffon uniform shirt of Dornish Air; Brienne supposed she couldn’t really blame him for taking joy in beautiful things. And Jaime’s rear really was quite beautiful – just like the rest of him. She was tempted to take a photograph as a memento of the two hours she had just spent with the most handsome man she had ever seen.

He hadn’t shut up while they were in the lounge, asking questions, commenting on the other people who surrounded them. His comments were witty and occasionally just the slightest bit snide – although he stopped quickly when he saw her frown, turning back to more innocuous topics like the weather and how dull airport lounges could be with nobody to talk to. 

The heat hit her first. Every time she flew Dornish Air, she made a mental note to change into something light before her flight – and every time, she forgot until she got onto the plane and started to sweat. It wasn’t that it was freezing outside – it had been a nice spring day and was still quite a comfortable temperature – but the contrast to the overheated plane was strong.

“Welcome aboard, Ms Tarth,” said the flight attendant – a woman this time, tiny and beautiful. “It’s all self-seating so please find yourself a spot.”

Brienne frowned. Margaery had been supposed to arrange her an exit row seat – she would be crowded if she was sat in a regular seat. She would have to hang her legs into the aisle, which invariably amused neither the flight attendants nor her fellow passengers.

“Brienne!” called a familiar voice. “Over here!” She looked up to see Jaime waving from the front bulkhead row, an empty seat beside him with his jacket across it. “I saved you a seat!”

She suppressed a smile. The last time somebody had done that for her, she thought she might have been in grade school.

“I hope this isn’t creepy,” Jaime said as she took off her jacket and placed it, with her bag, carefully into the overhead locker. “I just figured –” he gestured to his own legs, nearly as long as her own – “it’s tough, getting stuck in one of the back rows. I swear, one time I hurt my knee so badly, I couldn’t walk properly for a week. I usually pay the extra for an exit row seat, but with this –” he gestured again to his sling – they won’t let me sit there.

Brienne smiled. “I appreciate it, I really do. My company was supposed to book me into an exit row, but –” she shrugged. It was not the first and would not, she was certain, be the last time that somebody missed the details that made the difference between comfort and discomfort.

The captain’s voice came over the intercom, reminding them to fasten their seat belts. Brienne reached for hers and passed it low across her hips, as the announcement reminded her. Beside her, Jaime swore lightly as he tried to hook up both parts of his belt. Unconsciously, she reached to take it from him, then froze, hand inches from his groin, her face a bright red.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I was just going to –”

“I know,” said Jaime, “but I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t even –” He halted, frustration evident. “Would you mind just holding that for a moment –” 

He extended the belt to almost its full length before clipping it into the buckle that she held. She pulled her hand back in embarrassment as he tightened it to fit closely over his groin, blushing even more fiercely and looking away.

When he had finished, he nudged her gently. “Thank you,” he said. “I wasn’t looking forward to having to ask a flight attendant for their help. I bet they hear ‘Can you help me with my groin’ hundreds of times a day.”

She giggled as he continued, “Or maybe, ‘Is that a buckle in my lap, or am I just glad to see you?’ – anyway, thank you again, Brienne of Lannisport, Protector of my thirst and now my air travel safety.”

“It’s Tarth,” she muttered. “Brienne Tarth. Not Lannisport.”

He flashed her that ten thousand dragon smile once again. “And what will you be doing in Lannisport, Brienne Tarth?”

“I’m a trainer,” she said. “Well, a sort of trainer. I mentor Human Relations teams in implementing employee wellbeing programs.”

His smile broadened. “So you work for Winterfell Systems then?”

She nodded, intrigued – the company was not well known outside a very small group of CEOs and Human Resources managers, not least because of its sideline in investigating insider fraud. As a ‘trainer’, she was free to explore the HR systems and processes and to ‘spot audit’ specific teams within the organization – a perfect cover for a fraud investigation.

“You’ve heard of us?”

“I worked with Sansa Stark’s father for a year or so,” he said, “My father’s company was running a hostile takeover of a Dragonball team and Ned’s group partnered with us.” He paused, smiling ruefully. “He didn’t like me very much at all. Thought I was a lightweight, and didn’t really approve of the takeover at all as it turned out.” 

She could believe that. Not that Jaime wasn’t pleasant to speak to, but the Starks had always struck her as quite serious, not mercurial like the talkative man beside her. She couldn’t imagine Robb, Jon or Arya striking up a conversation with a stranger in an airport lounge, much less saving a seat for them. And Sansa had been happy to have her work a full day before flying to start her new role – she was a good boss, dedicated to her staff, but it would never occur to her to build a friendship outside the office.

“Can you tell me about Lannisport?” she asked hesitantly. If they were stuck beside one another for the next two hours, she might as well put Jaime’s chattiness to some use.

“It was originally a fishing town,” Jaime said, in a sing-song voice that might have been an attempt to imitate a tour guide. “The local lords built it up as a trading port, surrounded by rich agricultural land. These days, it’s the finance centre of Westeros – many of the banks and major traders have their business offices there, rather than in King’s Landing. It doesn’t get a great deal of tourism, at least not Essosi style, although there are some spectacular views from the cliffs and a couple of good boat journeys that you can take if you like whale-watching. You can take a seaplane to the Iron Islands, too, although I don’t recommend it. They’re rather dull – and that’s just the people. The working farm at Feastfires isn’t much better, although the restaurant is very very good – bit of a local secret. In Lannisport itself, the gold museum is worth a visit – and the Museum of the West of course. They claim to have the remains of a man-maid there.”

She grinned in response to his smile, before he continued.

“You can walk along the old city walls, as well, although it gets rather windy. The Wildfyre Tavern is said to have the best entertainment,” he paused for a moment. “I don’t go there, it’s run by my ex –” he shrugged, his mouth making a moue of distaste – “but there are plenty of other places. You must try the honey wine. It’s a local specialty.”

She noticed, idly, that he did not suggest that he would introduce it to her. Sitting here, sharing an arm rest with the most handsome man she had ever seen, it was easy to forget that she was just plain boring Brienne Tarth, tall and ugly, with a scar on her cheek from one of her early jobs where a man had thought she was spying on him for his wife. She hadn’t been – she had already ruled him out of her investigation – but it hadn’t stopped him taking a swing at her with a letter opener. She had been fortunate, the doctors said, that he had missed her eye. Regardless, two eyes or not, it wasn’t as though she was the type of person someone like Jaime would want to spend time with outside a packed airline lounge or a late-night flight.

The rumble of a trolley preceded the arrival of the flight attendants. Jaime ordered a ginger ale for himself and – after a quick check – a soda water for her. They both declined the lukewarm and undercooked pizza and the limp sandwiches, but Jaime took a large bag of dried fruit and nuts, waving off her attempts to pay. At least she could help him by taking his tray out for him, to the flight attendant’s evident disappointment. He was a fan of almonds and apricots, she noticed, happy to take the raisins and cashews for herself. He grinned at her when he accidentally took a cashew, holding it to her lips and dropping it into her mouth. “Nothing wasted with you,” he said with a smile.

“What would you do if I wasn't here?” she asked curiously.   
He shrugged. “Sleep, probably. Wake, drooling on some poor unsuspecting soul’s shoulder.” He grimaced. “Possibly with a flight attendant trying to ‘help’ me with something. I rarely get to converse with interesting people.”

All too soon, the plane landed. Jaime was ushered off the plane by a flight attendant, who took his bag and jacket. He barely had time to turn to Brienne and say, oddly formally, “It was good to meet you, Brienne Tarth of Lannisport.” With a wave that was almost a salute, he turned and left the plane.


	3. The Longest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets to her hotel and meets some of the staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been overwhelmed by the lovely comments on this story. Today the prompt was "Summer Solstice / The Longest Day". It's -- a bit of a stretch -- but I hope you will enjoy.

After retrieving her luggage, Brienne turned on her phone, relieved to find that it had enough charge to call an Uber – which turned out to be a newish SUV with the licence plate POD. The driver, a young man who also went by Pod, was a friendly young man who had just, he confided, set up his own business as a personal assistant and concierge. He gave her his card and, with her consent, installed his “Pod-Assist” app on her phone, explaining that she could use it to contact him at any time (“day or night”) to request his assistance. “Lannisport’s not that large, I can generally be anywhere within about fifteen minutes.”

He took her straight to the Casterly Hotel, perched high on the cliffs above Lannisport, driving carefully but confidently, just as she liked, and lifted her suitcase out onto the red and gold carpet of the entryway without dragging it against the car’s upholstery. 

This was not only her home for the next few months but also her workplace. There had been a spate of thefts at the hotel – not only from the hotel’s stores but, recently, from clients’ rooms also. So far, the owners had managed to keep the thefts quiet; if they were known, they would surely affect business.

Brienne was greeted by Mr Varys, the night manager, a very fat man with a bald head. “We’ve put you in the Lion suite,” he said with a grimace that might have been meant as a smile. “It looks out over the coast and the Searoad, although there’s not much to see at this hour. You have your own small kitchen and there are laundry facilities in the bathroom, but you are welcome to dial for room service. We run a laundry service on alternate days; all the information is in the guest folder. There’s an ice machine just off the foyer, and the gym and pool are open from five in the morning until nine at night. Just follow the signs once you get to the old dungeons in the basement.”

Brienne nodded, more than ready for her bed. She had an early appointment with Mr Lannister, a member of the family who owned the Casterly Hotel, and at – she calculated – a quarter past two in King’s Landing time, it was already more than sixteen hours since she had started work that morning. She felt barely able to put one foot in front of the other – but her conversation with Jaime had prevented her from preparing for the morning’s meeting as she would have liked.

“We’ve left a late-night arrivals pack in your refrigerator,” Mr Varys continued. “There’s some cold chicken and salad, as well as some cheeses, and milk for tea and coffee. And there are some bread rolls and crackers in a basket in your kitchen.”

“Thank you,” Brienne responded. She hadn’t realised she was hungry until Mr Varys had said that – but all she had eaten since lunchtime was airport lounge salad and pasta, and half of Jaime’s fruit and nuts. She was, she suddenly noticed, quite ravenous.

Mr Varys did that thing again – she supposed she should say, he smiled. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a young dark-haired bellhop. “Lancel here will show you to your suite,” he said grandly.

Suite was certainly the word for it, Brienne thought some five minutes later, as she slowly turned to admire her room. She hoped that there hadn’t been a mistake; the rooms were lovely. The red carpet was so thick and plush she had kicked off her shoes the minute Lancel had left her – with a generous tip, of course, although he seemed a little surprised when she offered it. The bed was more than large enough for her – a rarity, in the cheap hotels that she was used to – and the shower head was high enough that she wouldn’t have to crouch down even to wash her hair. The kitchen was well equipped for a single traveller, and the plate of cold chicken and salad looked delicious. The small plate of cheese beside it had a little cup of cashews and some raisins as well; she smiled, thinking of Jaime. The desk was equipped with a proper gas-lift office chair, and there were docks to charge both her phone and Kingle, with a speaker connection for each. The subtle lion motif was everywhere, even embroidered into the golden guest towels.

Resisting the sofa which looked too comfortable for someone as tired as she was, Brienne plugged in her laptop and connected to the hotel’s wifi network. Relieved to see that there were no changes to her schedule for the following day, she went into the bedroom and unpacked her bag – she was going to be here for a while, she might as well be comfortable. She showered quickly, then wrapped her hair in a soft towel and donned the towelling robe that was hung behind the bathroom door, before returning to the main room, where she settled with the plate of food and her laptop. While she ate, she jotted some notes in her notebook – a reminder to look at the rosters at the times of the thefts, as well as a note to get Pod to pick up some groceries for her. As for her cover, she thought she would start with a “five by thirty” challenge – encouraging staff to get at least thirty minutes of exercise, five days a week. She could follow different groups of staff to see how much activity they were getting, which would help her story. Pinching the skin at the top of her nose, she glanced at the clock: one o’clock, which meant that it was after three in King’s Landing. Past time to get some rest if she was to meet Mr Lannister in the morning.

\---ooooo---

Despite her late night, Brienne was awake just before six o’clock. Pulling on her workout clothes, she hurried down to the gym in the basement – no, she reminded herself, the dungeons. The room was empty except for a tall man with a scarred face, wearing knee-length black shorts and a crimson sports polo. From the dog tag he wore on a chain around his neck, she guessed that he was ex-military.

“I’m Sandor,” he greeted her. “I’m here to keep an eye on the equipment, make sure nobody breaks anything.” It was not clear whether he meant limbs or the very expensive-looking equipment. “If you want to work with weights, I can spot you.”

“Good morning Sandor,” she replied, extending her hand to shake his. “My name is Brienne. I will be working and living here for the next six months or so, so I expect that we will see one another quite often.” She looked around the gym. “This is much better equipped than the hotel gyms that I am accustomed to. I’m in quite a hurry this morning, however, so I shall just go for a run.” She gestured to a treadmill.

“Go right ahead,” he said. “I can change the ravenvision for you if you wish, or turn it off if you prefer the quiet.”

“Actually,” she said, as she started her warm-up, “I wouldn’t mind hearing a little more about the hotel. If you don’t mind the interruption, of course.”

Sandor grinned. “Don’t often get people wanting to chat down here, but I’m happy to talk. I don’t know anything about the business, though.”

Brienne laughed. “I was thinking more about the sorts of people who stay here. I heard that Lannisport isn’t much of a tourist town, but this hotel is very well set up.”

Sandor nodded. “There’s a lot of big companies based out of Lannisport. There are the usual chains in town, of course, but the bigwigs prefer to stay somewhere with a bit more class. This was the Lannisters’ home for hundreds of years, until Tytos – that’s the grandfather of the two guys who run it now – decided to modernise, around the time the gold mines started to run low. Apparently his son was furious – he wanted to be one of those corporate raiders – but they seem to have done alright.”

Brienne stored that information away. She’d known that it was a family-owned business, but it was useful to know that the Lannister family had owned the site for longer than the usual fifteen to twenty years or so.

Sandor watched her run for a while. “If you ever want to want a change of setting, there are some good running tracks around the rock. Lots of rises, though – you won’t just be on the flat.”

Brienne nodded, starting to breathe more heavily. “I’d like that.” Cranking the speed up, she finished with a faster pace, then moved away from the treadmill to begin her cooldown stretches.

“I run most evenings, around six,” Sandor offered. “I don’t mind company, as long as they don’t expect me to wait around for them. Um, just for training, you know. No funny business.”

Brienne ran a towel across her sweaty face, towelling off her hair. “That sounds good,” she said. “It won’t be this week, though. I need to get started on my work. And yes. No funny business.”

Returning to her room, she showered quickly and blow dried her hair before dressing in a clean pair of tailored pants and a silky pale blue blouse, with a camisole underneath. Her shoes were flat, with a strap across the front to hold them on firmly – she had stepped out of too many pairs of Myreenese flats chasing suspects to trust a strapless shoe. Her wristwatch read 7:45 – not enough time to wait for a breakfast delivery. She munched on the leftover cheese, cashews and raisins, drinking a glass of plain tap water. Using Pod's app, she sent a quick shopping list – cereal and low-fat milk, eggs, chicken breasts and salad vegetables, nuts and peaches – before brushing her teeth, collecting the satchel with her work notebooks and laptop computer, and heading back to the lobby for her meeting with Mr Lannister.

The day manager, “Call-me-Addam” Marbrand, a handsome man of about her age, showed her through to Mr Lannister’s office. “Your eight o’clock is here, Tyrion,” he announced as he opened the door.

Brienne wasn’t sure what she had expected Mr Lannister to look like, but it wasn’t a little person – and most emphatically, not a rather handsome little person. He hurried forward, holding out his hand to greet her. “Welcome, Ms Tarth – can I call you Brienne?”

She nodded, and he continued. “And I’m Tyrion.” He looked her up and down with a grin. “We shall have to find plenty of opportunities to stand beside one another while you are here,” he said. “People won’t know which way to look.” And with that comment, the ice was broken and she was laughing with him as he ushered her to a smallish conference table in one corner of the room.

“My brother will be joining us,” he said, “if he hasn’t overslept. But in the meantime, please let me thank you for your assistance with this very sensitive problem.”

Brienne drew a clean notebook from her bag. “When did you first notice the problems occurring?” she asked.

Tyrion frowned. “I’d say it was about three or four months ago. It wasn’t anything big at first – housekeeping reported a silver ice bucket and tongs missing from one of the suites. We figured that one of our customers had helped themself – it’s a bit of a hazard in this business, and that customer’s a regular – but then they asked about it the next time they were here.” He tipped his head to one side. “The design is a little racy – or it was, a couple of hundred years ago – so it’s rather distinctive. It’s covered in golden mermaids, doing – well, doing what mermaids evidently liked to do. Male mermaids – we call them man-maids.”

Brienne wasn’t entirely sure what mermaids liked to do, but she could hazard a guess. _“Sexy manmaids on ice,”_ she jotted in her notebook.

“After that, there were some other things that went missing from the rooms – mainly some of the older decorative items. A couple of pictures of a dusty old Lannister relative, a golden lion paperweight from the suit you’re in – not pure gold of course – objects that have been in the family for tens, if not hundreds, of years. We kept it quiet, of course. Then – it must have been about six weeks ago – somebody stole Selyse Baratheon’s Amethyst Stag from the safe in her room.”

Brienne gasped. Even she had heard of Selyse Baratheon – a political powerbroker for the religious right, her devoutness was equalled only by her finely-honed ability to judge and blame others. Her husband Stannis had recently been re-elected to the Council as the Lord Protector of the Stormlands. And even Brienne had heard of the Amethyst Stag, fabled jewel of the Baratheon family, mounted on a chain of Westerlands gold and Essosi pearls.

“Turns out, it was a fake. Stannis hocked the real one a few years back, when they were having trouble with Dothraki raiders and needed to call in the Golden Company. It’s been sitting in a vault in the Iron Bank as collateral – but he didn’t tell Selyse.” Tyrion made a face. “I don’t know whether you have met them – if you’re a Tarth, you must be from around there –” Brienne shook her head – she had never met either of the Baratheons, although she had been to college in the Bronzegate with Stannis’s brother Renly, who had had some hair-raising tales of his brother and good-sister. “You’re fortunate,” Tyrion said succinctly. “She’s a harridan and he’s willing to promise anything just to stay on the Council. Anyway, she didn’t know he’d hocked the Stag. You could hear the screaming in the dungeons – but it was lucky for us. She was so desperate that nobody know, she literally begged us to keep the theft quiet.” He grinned. “It would have been funny if it had been anything else, anywhere else – you know?”

Brienne didn’t know – she didn’t think theft was amusing at all – but she felt that she could see Tyrion’s perspective.

He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have an appointment with our functions team at nine, which leaves us only about half an hour. If you don’t mind, I’ll fill you in a bit on the Casterly in general, and then leave it to my brother to show you around the place.”

Brienne nodded. “Anything you have to tell me will be useful,” she replied, scribbling _“Fake stag. Hocked.”_ in her book. “Mr Varys welcomed me to the hotel last night, but –”

Tyrion chuckled. “Varys is more Lannister than a Lannister sometimes,” he said. “Very old school about the place. Hundreds of years of Lannisters, that kind of thing?”

Brienne shook her head. “To be honest, it was so late, I was glad just to be shown to my room.”

“Right then,” said Tyrion. “Casterly Rock is my family’s ancestral home – don’t worry, you don’t need to look impressed. If you’re who I think you are, your family is at least as old as mine.” She tipped her head to one side in acknowledgement, reddening a little at his knowledge of her family. “We didn’t come by it honestly of course – Lann the Clever supposedly tricked Lord Casterly out of it at some point during the Age of Heroes – and there have been Lannisters here ever since.”

_"Lann the Trickster,"_ Brienne noted, although she wasn’t sure that that was the most important part of Tyrion’s story.

“My grandfather established the hotel, much to my father’s despair. He set up on his own as a mergers and acquisitions specialist – specialising in hostile takeovers. My brother worked with him for a while, but father didn’t have any time for a child that was less than perfect – that’s me by the way – so I stayed here and learned the business from grandfather. Father of course was based in Lannisport proper. Anyway, after a really rather awfully messy divorce, my brother left the corporate world and came back up here to work with me.” Brienne heard the door open, but was too polite to turn her head away from Tyrion. “He’s always on at me to change things up a bit, run a special event for the summer solstice – the views are pretty spectacular – maybe start some of those mystery themed weekends to cater to bored bankers and stockbrokers. We do pretty well so far, though; I’m not convinced that we need to add a gimmick.”

“Ah,” said a voice from over Brienne’s shoulder, “But then we couldn’t have the fun of dressing up. I always wanted to be a knight, brother. You could be an imp.”

Disbelieving, Brienne turned to see Jaime standing beside the table. “And you, Brienne. Maiden fair? Or perhaps a wench?”

Brienne stood, holding out her hand in surprise. “Jaime – Lannister, I presume.”

He nodded with a grin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Brienne Tarth. Wench of Lannisport.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was Fall / Change.
> 
> This is the weakest connection of all. When Brienne wears different clothes, she has to CHANGE. Ugh. And when you get out of a toxic relationship, you do the same thing. Sorry.
> 
> This is very late and I have no beta. Any mistakes are entirely Tyrion's fault.

After Tyrion left for his meeting, Brienne turned to glare at Jaime.

“You knew who I was!” she announced accusingly.

“I didn’t _know_ it, wench. I surmised it, when you said you worked for Winterfell Systems. But if you weren’t working for us, I could hardly give the game away could I.”__

_ __ _

_ __ _

She huffed as he grinned at her. “So what’s the plan, 99?”

She rolled her eyes. “_Get Smart_, Jaime? I think I preferred wench.”

Too late, she realised that this had been a tactical error; the grin on Jaime’s face was evidence of that. Shaking her head, she outlined her plan to him. He nodded enthusiastically. “So, we need costumes.”

“Jaime,” she said in frustration. “_I_ need costumes. Uniforms. I need uniforms. You need to keep doing whatever it is you do here, so we don’t alert the thief.”

Jaime pouted. “Right then. You need costumes, but first, I need to show you around the place, introduce you to some people. Have you had breakfast?”

She shook her head, struggling to keep up with his thought processes.

“Marvellous. Let’s go and eat, and then I will show you around, introduce you to our operations team. And then,” he said, dramatically, “we can find you your costumes.”

The breakfast buffet was relatively quiet by the time they arrived, testament to the hotel’s roots in business clients. Jaime led Brienne to a table by the bay window that looked out over the ocean. An attentive waiter took their orders – coffee for Jaime, peppermint tea for Brienne – then left.

“Ladies first,” Jaime said, ushering Brienne to the breakfast buffet. He awkwardly helped himself to a large bowl of coco pops with some sliced strawberries on top, which he carried over to their table as Brienne took a cup of Bircher muesli. They met again near the Dornish pastries – Jaime took one with cherries and another with peaches, while Brienne poured herself a glass of cranberry juice. When she returned to the table, she found a small pot of raisins at her place.

“It _was_ you!” she exclaimed, as Jaime tried not to look smug.

“Did you think of me, wench?” he said with a grin.

“Not at all,” she lied. “I was much too hungry.”

A buzz on her phone drew her attention: a message filled the screen.

**YOUR POD-LIVERY IS ON ITS WAY.**

Jaime looked puzzled, so she told him about her young Uber driver and his personal concierge initiative. He nodded, between bites. “Good for him.”

When Pod arrived with Brienne’s groceries, some 10 minutes later, Jaime had him install Pod-Assist on his phone as well.

“I found a new bug today,” Pod confessed with a sigh. “There’s a problem when you place an order, it sends too much information. But I’m going to get my team to fix it.”

Jaime looked at him sceptically. He was fairly conscious that Pod’s “team” consisted of a couple of local students, rather than the big business group that he made it sound. Still, the lad was clearly keen. He gave him a generous tip when Brienne wasn’t looking.

After Pod had left, Brienne looked sceptically at Jaime. “You have an entire luxury hotel full of staff. Why do you need Pod-Assist?”

Jaime looked at his right hand, which was still in the sling, shrugging a little. Brienne noticed that the skin around his mouth had tightened a little.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked. “Only if you want to.”

“I might as well, wench,” Jaime said bitterly. “Before someone else does. My ex, Cersei, was – well, it turned out she was a bit of a maniac, and I was too much of an idiot to notice. She had been controlling me for years – and let’s just say it didn’t end well.” He swallowed, frowning. “Actually, now that I look back on it, it didn’t start terribly well either. We were born on the same day, and she used to say that that made us twins. Which – let’s just say, that was really not at all appropriate. She thought it made us inseparable, used to complain if I ever wanted to do my own thing, so eventually I stopped, and just spent my time with her. And then one day, her brother Bronn appeared. He ran a number of prostitution rings in town – and not the safe, legal kind – the kind that kidnaps young women from the frozen north and brings them down here with the promise of a job. One young woman – Ygritte Wildling – Tyrion found her a job here – got out one day when we were visiting him and told me what was going on. Cersei just laughed, said that she deserved whatever she got for being so stupid as to believe her brother. And then –” Jaime sounded surprised – “suddenly, just like that, it was all over. I saw through her – saw that she would never change, that she didn’t care about people at all. Of course, if I were smarter, I would have waited until we had left Bronn’s place before I gave it away. He shot me through the hand with a crossbow. Pinned me to the door and was reloading – I was lucky that Ygritte had already called the Goldcloaks and they came bursting in.” He looked ruefully at his hand. “They tell me there’s permanent nerve damage, that I’ll never regain more than about 10% movement. Meanwhile, Cersei’s taken over Bronn’s old role in their family business and is running half the brothels in Lannisport.”

Brienne’s eyes were wide. She reached out to touch his hand. “That’s awful, Jaime. I’m so sorry.”

He sighed. “Not half as sorry as I am, wench. But don’t be sad. It was past time I woke up and got out – and it’s strange to say, but since I’ve moved back to the Casterly, I’ve been as happy as I ever have.”

Brienne got straight to work after Jaime had shown her around the hotel. She spent the afternoon with the Operations team, getting to know the various computer systems. She explained that she was interested in the rosters, to get an understanding of people’s work patterns and how they could build more activity in to their days.

The next day, she was in cost-uniform as a waiter. She accompanied the room service team as they moved about the hotels, horrified alternately by the amount of food that people ordered, the (small) quantity of clothing that they deemed acceptable for receiving room service, and the amount of food waste that they left behind.

“It’s separated,” said Ygritte of the Goldcloak rescue, now a waiter in the room service team. “When I arrived here, they knew nothing about sustainability. But I’ve set up an arrangement with the people at Feastfyres. Their prize winning pigs are fed on day-old leftover four-star restaurant food.” She grinned. "They have a Qyburn Grinder, so they can even take the bones from the roasts."

Brienne’s third day was spent at Reception, where she worked with Addam Marbrand. Jaime spent some time bothering them both – it turned out, he and Addam had been at school together – before extracting a promise from Brienne to join him for dinner in the Casterly’s restaurant that evening. “I’ll even bring Tyrion to chaperone, wench,” he said. Brienne rolled her eyes, surprised that he had not yet got sick of tormenting her.

That evening, Jaime presented her with a small paper bag. “I got you a souvenir, wench,” he said. “I had Pod bring it up. It’s to remind you of our time in the airline lounge.” He turned to Tyrion. “We should sell these at reception.”

Hesitantly, Brienne opened the bag. The t-shirt inside was the crimson she associated with the Casterly. Across the front, in golden writing, it read “I outsmarted Lann the Clever.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes and groaned as though in pain. A short while later, after begging Brienne to walk around the room with him – as predicted, they drew the eye of everyone in the dining room – he left to greet a guest while Brienne sat back at the table. She grimaced a little as she saw the t-shirt lying there.

Jaime caught her eye. “I don’t really want to do them,” he said conspiratorially. “But it annoys Tyrion so much. It’s quite marvellous how much it annoys him, actually. But there’s your one-of-a-kind tacky souvenir of Lannisport.”

The following day, Brienne dressed as a housekeeper, moving around the hotel with a housekeeping team. She was astonished at how precisely the rooms were cleaned, privately vowing never again to leave her hotel room anything less than pristine and with a healthy tip for the staff. All of the hotel staff seemed to know their business well; they ran into Lancel once or twice, making minor repairs to the hotel rooms. On another floor, they saw Ygritte delivering a meal to a man who was – for a change – quite well dressed. Addam sent information about their cleaning schedule directly to them on a tablet that was attached to the cleaning trolley. It all seemed very efficient.

After their rounds, Brienne changed into her running shorts. She hesitated over her choice of shirt, finally picking Lann the Clever, then headed down to the gym for a workout. It was a little earlier than she had usually visited the gym, and so she was surprised to find Jaime there. He had his arm unstrapped, for a change, and was working his shoulders and triceps on one of the machines, facing away from the door. “Sandor, can you increase the weight on this one for me please?” he called.

“I think Sandor’s stepped out,” Brienne said, moving around to where he could see her. “I can help you, if you like.”

He nodded abruptly. “It takes two hands to fix the weight in place and I –”

She nodded, understanding. “It’s OK. Let me do this, then I’ll go over there –” she motioned towards the treadmills that stood in the corner.

A short time later, he wandered over to where she ran, a squeezy ball clutched awkwardly in his hand. “I apologise if I was abrupt earlier,” he said. “I just don’t like people seeing me like this.” He paused. “I call that machine Oathkeeper. I promised my physiotherapist that I would work out on it every day. At least until I go berserk and chop it up with a fire axe or something.”

Brienne shrugged. “Then I’m not people. Don’t worry, Jaime, I’ll be out of your way once I’ve solved these thefts for you.”

She saw him turn away, but didn’t hear him mutter under his breath, “That’s what I’m afraid of, wench.”


	5. Winter / Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, and Jaime and Brienne become closer.

Taking Brienne’s hand in his, Jaime led her away from the gym, through a locked door and into a rocky corridor that sloped down until they emerged into a pristine, protected cove. A pile of towels and a picnic basket, with a wine bottle chilling beside it, lay before them. 

“I made us a picnic, wench,” Jaime said happily, tugging her over until, laughing, she fell onto the towels beside him. Dropping her hand, he turned to open the picnic basket, turning with a large strawberry in his hand. She reached for it, but he pulled it back, shaking his head. “No hands,” he instructed firmly, teasing her lips with the ripe fruit until she opened her mouth to bite it. Jaime’s eyes darkened as he watched her chew and then swallow the fruit. He leaned closer – he was golden in the light of the sun.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the airport,” he murmured. “May I kiss you, Brienne?”

She closed the distance between them, their lips meeting, first soft and then clinging together. They lay back on the sand, she on her back, he on his front, half atop her, lips never parting for more than a moment, hands questing through the other’s hair, stroking and patting. His tongue licked at the seam of her mouth and she opened to him, their tongues tangling in a passion that rose and ebbed like the ocean beside them. Her hands stroked the skin of his back; his hand was at her waist, holding her close as though she should never leave. She squirmed, trying to be closer to him, felt the evidence of his desire – “it’s yours, it will always be yours,” he said huskily, nipping at the lobe of her ear, resting his forehead against hers as they both breathed heavily.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he told her between kisses, then – “come with me, into the water.”

Standing, she disrobed, as he shed his clothes, struggling a little to ease his shirt over his damaged hand. Naked, he was even more beautiful than he had been when clothed (“I was right about his arse,” Brienne thought), and it was clear that his desire was real. He looked at her, too, with wonder – “wench, I could watch your legs all day” before taking her hand and leading her into the water.

They waded through the water until it reached their hips, then Jaime dropped her hand and dived under one of the soft waves that were rolling in toward the beach. He emerged, eyes shining, and Brienne reached for the piece of kelp that fluttered at the side of his neck – only to realise that it was a part of him.

“I wanted you to see this for yourself, Brienne,” Jaime said, and Brienne felt that she was falling, going away somewhere, as his crimson and gold tail poked out of the water. “I’m a man-maid.”

Brienne woke in shock, shaking her hand to see the time on her wristwatch. It was just 5:30, too early for her to really be stirring, but too late for her to go back to sleep before she met Jaime for breakfast at 8. The Jaime who was, she reminded herself, sort of her boss – and whose golden good looks would never see him saying such things to someone like her. With a sigh, and a reminder to herself that plenty of people led happy, fulfilled lives without a partner, she headed for the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and review her notes so far. She was supposed to be presenting a session to the staff next week, in her cover as a corporate wellbeing consultant, and would need posters to advertise the session. She hoped that Margaery or another member of the administration team at Winterfell would have sent something through to her that she could use.

After drinking her tea, Brienne showered and dressed, then sat down to review her emails. Three offered to enlarge her penis; two sexy girls from Naath were hoping to liveraven with her; another promised to send her long-lost family treasure in exchange for a mere twelve thousand gold dragons. There was nothing from Margaery.

A gentle tapping on her door drew her attention. “Wench,” came a soft mutter from behind it. “Wench!”

She crossed to open it, revealing a sleepy and rumpled-looking Jaime, dressed in well-worn jeans, deck shoes and a white t-shirt, trying to pull a navy shirt over his right arm.

Stepping back, she waved him in, then moved to help him pull the shirt over his arm before returning it to the sling that hung limp around his neck. Surreptitiously, she pinched herself. No tail, no gills, no boner. No man-maid, just Jaime, in her room.

“There’s been another theft,” he told her, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. She brushed his hand aside, doing them up quickly as he spoke. “Some time yesterday, we’re not sure when. They stole a portrait of Jareina Lannister.” Brienne arched an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. “She was the only child of Gerold Lannister, thousands of years ago. She was married to Joffrey Lydden, who took the name Lannister to become the king of the Westerlands after Gerold’s death. All of the Lannisters since then are descended from them – at least, the ones born on the right side of the blanket.”

Brienne looked at him. “So – King of the West. Tyrion’s a king?”

“No, no,” Jaime reassured her. “We haven’t used that title for years. My father tried to resurrect it, but it never worked.” He paused. “Besides, I’m older than Tyrion. If either of us is a king, I am, wench.”

Brienne dropped into an exaggerated – and very bad – curtsey. “Your Grace.”

Loftily, Jaime extended his arm. “Curtseying clearly is not your forte. I think you had better be a knight than a wench, Ser Brienne.”

She bowed, playing along with his game, then recalled what had brought him to her apartment. “This theft. Do you know when it occurred?”

“Some time yesterday,” Jaime said. “My aunt Genna – Lady Frey – is visiting, and we always give her that room. She says it makes her feel connected to the family’s history – but I think it’s just because it’s the closest suite to the secret passage down to the bar.” He grinned, then refocused. “The picture’s quite small – it would fit in a bag or trolley – and once again, it has no real value to anyone, although the frame is made of gold.”

Brienne frowned. “I don’t remember seeing anybody out of place yesterday, but perhaps it’s time to install a camera system. We have some demountable cameras that are quite discreet; I can install them myself tomorrow. I will have Sansa courier them over and get Pod to collect it from the airport –”

Jaime nodded. “Not a bad idea at all, wench. Now, breakfast?”

“I just need to send an email to Sansa, and let Pod know to pick the package up this afternoon. I can meet you downstairs, or –”

“I’ll wait,” Jaime said happily, settling himself onto her small sofa. Not sitting – that would be too tame for Jaime Lannister. Instead, he sprawled, head on one arm of the sofa, feet crossed and hanging over the other arm, watching her as she quickly typed an email and then stepped into her shoes.

“Come on then,” she said, reminding herself that Jaime Lannister had no business lying down ANYWHERE in her rooms – or alternatively, that he had all the business, given that owned the hotel.

“Help me up, wench,” he said pathetically. “No wait, save me, Ser Brienne, from this wicked man-eating couch!” He struggled feebly for a moment until she reached a hand down for him to catch in his own warm one, then pulled him to standing – too close, she thought faintly. His eyes, for a moment, seemed as soft as they had in her dream.

Brienne’s phone chirped and she stepped back, looking at the screen. “Margaery’s got the cameras to the courier,” she told Jaime, “I’ll just send the job through to Pod.” Quickly, she opened the Pod-Assist app and entered the job, noting that the cameras were to be given only to her or to one of the Lannister brothers.

After breakfast, she hurried down to the kitchens, where she was to spend the day observing. It was frustrating that she had to maintain her cover; she would much rather have spent the day questioning staff or snooping around “Aunt Genna’s” room. Instead, she was in the kitchen, where she could only observe – after an incident at the Twins, in the Riverlands, where poor refrigeration and poor food hygiene practices had led to a massive outbreak of what was euphemistically termed “the bloody flux”, Westerosi food handling practices had been mandated by law. Sansa Stark’s mother Catelyn was one of fifty three people who had died – when Sansa returned to Winterfell Systems, she had immediately instituted company-wide hand hygiene training, complete with glow-in-the-dark ‘germs’. Brienne, however, had never required any further training – so her role in the kitchens was to sit quietly and watch as the chef, known as “Hot Pie”, orchestrated the food preparation activities.

With the breakfast rush over and the clean-up well underway, the morning staff had mostly moved on by the time Jaime came looking for her. Hot Pie was supervising the remaining staff in preparing an array of soups and baking; some of the household staff had stopped by for a mid-morning snack at the long stainless steel table in the middle of the room.

“Come with me,” said Jaime. “I’ll show you one of my favourite things.” Taking her hand, he led her out to the corridor and in to the large walk-in freezer. Reaching out his hand, he scraped tiny flakes of ice off the top shelves, causing a flutter of tiny crystals to fall onto Brienne’s head. “Beautiful,” he said – and for a moment, she almost believed that he meant her.

A noise at the door had them turning – only to see it slam shut, the lock engaging noisily.

“Hey!” Brienne shouted, hurrying to the door with Jaime and pounding on it – just as the lights went out.

“I don’t know about you, wench,” said Jaime, “but I don’t think this was a mistake.” He took out his phone, looking at the screen and shaking it in frustration. “I’m not getting any signal here.”

Like him, Brienne had no signal – so she turned her phone off to conserve its battery, as Jaime turned on his torch and shone it around the room, illuminating the various foods that filled it.

“Right, Ser Brienne,” he said, shining his torch on the carcase of a pig which hung in one corner. “Will you wear the pig, or will I?” He strode confidently towards it, shivering a little in the cold air.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Wench,” he said, “Surely you have seen _The Dothraki Strike Back_? When Khal Liko is trapped on the ice world without his horse, he slays the ice dragon Viserion and then wraps himself in its carcase to keep warm in the freezing temperatures. You can have Feastfyres’ finest to keep you warm.”

She brushed past him, lifting down the heavy plastic that lined the shelves. “I am not wearing a pig, Jaime. It will be lunch time in about three hours; someone is bound to come in here before then. We need to wrap ourselves up in something to keep warm – _something that is not a pig _– and wait to be rescued. Now let’s empty some of these boxes so we can sit and lean on the cardboard, and then work on warming ourselves up.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I have suggestions of things we could do to warm ourselves up.”

She blushed. “Boxes, Jaime.”

They fashioned themselves a chair of boxes, and Brienne wrapped them in the thick black plastic. “We should share,” Jaime had pointed out, “to share our body heat.” She knew that he was correct, but was uncomfortable being so close to him – he crowded her, leaving her no space to maintain her usual calm perspective.

Nearly-freezing, wrapped-in-plastic-but-not-in-a-pig Jaime was at least as talkative as plane Jaime had been. “If I dip my chin under the edge of the plastic,” he pointed out, “then anything I say will become warm air inside our cocoon.” She giggled as he added, “Tyrion always says that I am full of warm air.”

She yawned, and he tipped his head towards her. “You should sleep. You’re always so diligent – devoted to your work. It’s time to rest a while, Ser Brienne Tarth, Wench of Lannisport. There’s literally nothing we can do while we are trapped in this cooler.”

She shifted; “I’m hardly comfortable.”

Inside the plastic, he shifted, wrapping his arm around her. “Use my shoulder,” he said. “It’s not a bad height for you, and I’ve been told it’s quite soft.”

She smiled, but did what he said, and he chattered away into their shared cocoon as she closed her eyes and waited for rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cat walked on the keyboard. Here’s the Song of the Man-Maid:  
sdaaaaaaaaafddddddddddv``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````d 1qqqqqqqqqqqqqqq vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
> 
> <strike>I cannot find it, but somebody</strike>Nire wrote a magnificent Jaime-the-mermaid fic this week. This idea came to me independently (well, it came from the sexy man maids on ice reference) but if you like it, you should go read their amazing story. <strike>Which I am trying to find ... if you know it (or if you wrote it!) please link in the comments and I will update here.</strike> https://nire-the-mithridatist.tumblr.com/post/188060727396/sharing-a-bed-in-a-cottage-by-the-sea-have -- currently on Tumblr, but coming soon to an AO3 near us all.
> 
> Edit: To the best of my knowledge, nobody has written a pigs-as-tauntaun GoT crossover fic. But if you have, please go ahead and link that in comments too x


	6. The Long Night / Together in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are trapped in the hotel's coolroom.

It only took about ten minutes to persuade Jaime to turn off his torch. It was still cold, but there was something comforting about being together – they might be on a mountain or on a deserted beach, rather than sharing a cooler with a pig carcase, a few rather large trout, some steaks and a week’s worth of vegetables. Once or twice, he rubbed his beard on the top of her head – once or twice, she thought, he might have kissed her gently there.

They knew, of course, that they would be rescued – they were in no danger, had taken sensible precautions against hypothermia. They weren’t comfortable, but neither were they in fear of their lives. Brienne went to yawn, and Jaime pulled the plastic up. “Remember, Ser Brienne,” he said, “if you are going to save the maiden – that’s me by the way – you have to save your breath for inside out cocoon.” 

Brienne chuckled. “I thought you were the king, Jaime, not the maiden.”

He chuckled. “Well I’m probably as much one as the other,” he said. “There was only ever Cersei, and that’s been over for nearly two years. Perhaps I’m a born again maiden?”

She laughed, although his confession had surprised her. “I’m not certain that born again maidens are real, Jaime.”

He nudged her. “What about you, wench? I’m telling you all my secrets. Is there someone waiting for you back in King’s Landing?”

She laughed. “No, I’m hardly the type of woman to have someone waiting. There was someone once, sort of a co worker. Hyle. But he was more interested in what I could do for his career than in me as a person, so we broke up. That’s it, really.” Confidences really were easier in the dark, it seemed.

That time, she was sure he kissed the top of her head. “Clearly unworthy.” She shivered a little, and he pulled her closer, rubbing his hand down her arm to warm it. “_I’d_ wait for you, wench. Even if you do go harder on me even than Sandor, with the weight training machines.”

Brienne wasn’t sure what to respond to that.

In the end, it was Pod, rather than the kitchen staff, who found them.

“I told you that the app isn’t quite working properly yet,” he explained. “It sends me the whereabouts of the person when they submit a task, but then it keeps sending it until they mark the task as completed. So I could see that you were here, and then you – well, you weren’t anywhere. It made sense to start looking down here. 

Brienne and Jaime were wrapped in blankets and standing in front of a large portable heater in Tyrion’s office as Pod explained.

“But why?” Jaime asked. “Why lock us in the freezer?”

Brienne shrugged. “They must think that we’ve seen something, but I don’t know what.” She stepped away from Jaime, seating herself on the room’s sofa, keeping the crimson blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. “It can’t have been today – I’ve been in the kitchens all morning. And besides, nobody has reported any thefts today –” she looked enquiringly at Tyrion, who nodded. She continued, “so it must have been yesterday. I spent the day with the housekeeping team, and we didn’t go to your aunt’s room – it had already been made up before she arrived. It couldn’t have been one of them.” She paused, thinking. “I saw Ygritte Wildling a couple of times, but I’m quite certain that she was delivering food, not collecting it. It’s hard to imagine that anyone might steal something while they were dropping off a room service delivery.”

Jaime sat beside her, a blue blanket around his shoulders. “Did you see anyone else?”

“The bellboy, Lancel –”

“Lancel Hill?” Tyrion asked

“I’m not sure – he was on duty the night I arrived. Youngish man, dark hair. I saw him coming out of a couple of rooms with a toolbox – I suppose he could have hidden a smallish picture inside it.”

“Why would Lancel Hill be carrying a toolbox –” began Jaime, as Tyrion asked, “Why would Lancel Hill be going into guests’ rooms when the only person who arrived or left yesterday was Aunt Genna?” 

Brienne looked from one to the other. “Well I think we have our suspect.”

Pod coughed. “Should we call the Goldcloaks first?”

Brienne nodded. It was policy at Winterfell Systems to involve the Goldcloaks in all but the most confidential of cases. In this situation, with multiple thefts and attempted – maybe not murder, but bodily harm, at least – their presence was a necessity.

Tyrion crossed to his desk and called Lord Commander Snow directly, requesting that he come directly to the Casterly. Meanwhile, Jaime rubbed gently at the blanket on Brienne’s shoulders.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I think we should swap blankets,” Jaime said. “In the freezer, we shared our body heat. We should do that again. If you won’t snuggle with me –” he paused, looking hopeful until she shook her head, “then we should swap blankets.”

“Fine,” muttered Brienne, not quite sure of his point, and becoming a little sick of his casual, meaningless touches. She removed the blue blanket and he placed the crimson one carefully around her shoulders, before settling himself back on the sofa, hip touching hers. It did feel slightly warmer, she had to admit – although whether it was the blanket itself, the body heat, or the allure of being wrapped in something that had so recently been wrapped around Jaime, she wasn’t sure.

Tyrion returned, then looked at them curiously. “Something’s different.”

Brienne flushed, pointing to her blanket. “This is his and his is mine,” she explained, as Jaime gave the corollary: “This is hers and hers is mine.” Tyrion smirked a little, then called to the kitchen for fresh tea and coffee to warm them both. They arrived quickly, with Ygritte Wildling bringing fresh scones and jam and cream from the kitchen.

Brienne watched as Jaime ladled jam and cream onto a scone that practically groaned under the weight of its condiments. He placed it onto a plate, then brought it over to her. “Live a little, wench.”

She eyed the scone for a moment, then took it from him. He prepared another with, if anything, even more jam and cream, before returning to his seat beside her. Biting into the scone, he moaned a little – “Oh, that is good.”

“You’ve got –” she tried to point at his moustache, where some of the jam and cream was caught, but he just tried to lick it off. Taking a napkin, she dabbed at his face.

“Always cleaning up after me, Ser Brienne,” he murmured with a grin.

He had his revenge when Brienne bit into her scone; she got cream from nose to chin. He wiped it carefully off her face with his thumb, then put his thumb to her mouth so that she could lick the cream off it. When she demurred, he was happy to lick it himself, grinning at her so widely that she could not help but smile back.

It was not long before Lord Commander Snow arrived. Jaime and Brienne had finished their scones and were sitting on the couch cradling a peppermint tea (Brienne) and a hazelnut vanilla espresso latte (Jaime) with even more whipped cream on top than he had put on his scone. Tyrion had a cup of Earl Grey and Pod – who for some reason had not left yet – was onto his third scone, with encouragement from Ygritte. Both the Lannisters were surprised when he and Brienne greeted one another by name, but were mollified when she explained that Jon was in fact some sort of cousin of Sansa Stark’s.

“You had best tell me everything, from the beginning,” said Jon.

Ygritte rolled her eyes. “It’s just like when that man was bringing us down from the North,” she said. “Crime everywhere, and you know nothing, Jon Snow.”

Jon frowned, but did not respond. Tyrion began the tale of the series of events that had brought Brienne to The Casterly.

“And then today,” Jaime interrupted when Tyrion had explained Lady Frey’s discovery of the missing painting, “someone locked me and Brienne in the coolroom.”

Jon frowned again. “That’s escalation,” he said. “We don’t like to see that. He – or she – has moved from theft to potentially causing serious injury.”

Jaime nodded. “It was fortunate that Brienne was there and knew how to make a plastic sleeping bag,” he said earnestly, “or one of us might have had to wear the pig.”

The conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at him, puzzlement on their faces.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Khal Liko on the ice planet?” he asked Brienne. She nodded, eyes dancing. Meanwhile, Pod’s face lit up. “That’s so clever,” he said. “Because the pig is like the ice dragon!”

Tyrion buried his face in his hands for a moment as Jaime beamed at Pod. Ygritte mouthed, “You know nothing” at Jon, although she looked no wiser herself.

“We have a fair idea of who it was and how and when he did it,” said Tyrion. “We just don’t know why. And the amethyst stag is still a mystery.”

Jon was all business, taking down the details of what Brienne had seen as well as Lancel Hill’s duties and responsibilities at The Casterly – duties that did not include entering guests’ rooms other than to deliver their bags.

“That all seems pretty clear,” he said. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

Unfortunately, Lancel Hill was not to be found on the premises, so Brienne looked him up in the HR database to find his address. She wrote it on a Post-It and handed it to Jon, who looked surprised when they all trooped out with him.

“You can’t come with me,” he told them. “This is an official vehicle, reserved for the shields that guard the realms of men.”

“I have my SUV,” Pod volunteered. Ygritte Wildling climbed into the front seat, so Tyrion, Jaime and Brienne had to climb into the back. Jaime insisted on taking the middle seat so that he could sit beside Brienne, then opened Pod-Assist to request the use of the SUV for the next few hours.

In just a few minutes they were in Lannisport outside Lancel’s building, following Jon into the foyer and up the stairs. The young man opened his door, then tried to close it, but Jon blocked it with his boot. Once he captured Lancel’s arm and handcuffed him, they all filed in to the small and rather messy apartment.

A shelf unit on one wall held the missing Lannister heirlooms – paintings, ice bucket (Brienne looked quite closely at the man-maids) and a couple of paperweights and other small items. A velvet box lay atop an envelope addressed, simply, to “Cersei”. Jon opened it and scanned the card inside, before handing it to Tyrion, who passed it to Brienne. Jaime, of course, read over – or around – her shoulder.

“As you encouraged, I have been collecting items that reflect my true heritage,” Lancel had written. “Soon the world will know that I am a true Lannister and that you are Robert Baratheon’s true daughter.”

Brienne turned to Jaime, stunned. “Is this –”

“My ex,” he confirmed, almost as dumbfounded as she. “But she’s a Blackwater, not –”

“That’s just what they told her,” Lancel said, a gleam of mania in his eyes. “But she is a daughter of Robert Baratheon, just as I am the son of Kevin Lannister. I claim my share of The Casterly! These objects are mine, they were not stolen, merely returned to their rightful place. Soon, we will marry, uniting the Lannisters and Baratheons forever!”

Jon gestured for them to leave before following, with Lancel still in handcuffs. “I’ll have to get someone to collect everything for examination,” he said, “I can’t send it with you now. I’ll take the amethyst stag though – I can’t believe it’s been sitting on a shelf all this time.”

“It’s alright, it’s a fake,” said Tyrion quietly. Jon stared at him, dumbstruck. “I’ll explain later.”

They returned to the SUV, and were driven back to The Casterly, where they said a fond farewell to Pod. Nodding at the doorman Hodor, they walked into the foyer.

“Dinner tonight, wench?” asked Jaime. “Can I order it sent up to your apartment? We have a lot to discuss.”

Brienne nodded. She would start work on her report immediately; it was always important to debrief after a successful assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback, kudos and comments. It really means the world to me!
> 
> I hope that you are enjoying this rather silly little story. If you liked it, please check out my other work - lots of one shots (which are all J/B), A Second Chance (J/B with a side of Sansa/Tyrion) and my WIP long fic 340 Ravens (Sansa/Tyrion with a side of JB). 
> 
> And please check out the other work in the JB Week collection. There are so many great stories there.


	7. Winter's End / Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the mystery has been solved, Jaime and Brienne have a conversation about what happens next.

Jaime was fifteen minutes early for dinner. In the intervening hours, Brienne had returned to her room, taken a warm shower and dressed in soft leggings, fluffy socks and her old Bronzegate U sweatshirt before setting at the table to work on her report for Tyrion.

She had just stood up to go and change into something a little more presentable – she had her pride, after all – when Jaime knocked on her door. He was as handsome as ever, wearing dark navy chinos and a shirt with a white collar, with a chunky crimson jumper.

“Come in,” she told him, “I was just going to go and change.”

“Don’t bother on my account,” he said, but she shook her head.

“I won’t be a moment; please, make yourself comfortable.”

She heard him moving about the room while she changed into a pair of black merino wool trousers and a flowing blue knitted top that draped at the neckline and swirled about her to her hips. She tugged at her hair, bit her lips to make up for her lack of lipstick, and returned to the room.

Jaime had been busy in her absence. He’d stacked her paper notebook and pens carefully on top of her computer, and had wheeled in a trolley with a platter containing a variety of finger foods – sliced meats and cheeses, dips, breads, dried and fresh fruits. A bottle of champagne chilled in a man-maid-free ice bucket.

Brienne stopped short in surprise.

“Is something wrong, wench?” asked Jaime, taking the champagne bottle and holding it between his knees, trying to remove the cork with one hand.

“I – I just thought we were debriefing tonight. I didn’t realise –”

“We are celebrating,” said Jaime firmly. “We didn’t die in the coolroom, and we caught the bad guy. And Jon Snow rang earlier – it seems they had observation on Cersei, and there are recordings of her inciting Lancel to take the items. So she’s going away for a long time as well.” He looked at his broken hand. “I know that shouldn’t make me happy, but I never claimed to be a good person.”

Brienne crossed the room to him. “But you are a good person, Jaime. She wronged you; you never wronged her.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter any more.”

He gestured to the table, “Have something to eat,” he suggested. “I wasn’t sure what you would want, so I asked Hot Pie to send up some of everything.”

“Well he certainly did,” she said, looking at all the food. An uncomfortable silence grw between them, as though neither quite knew what to say to the other.

Jaime was the first to give in. “When are you going back to King’s Landing?” he asked. She was a little hurt that he wanted to be rid of her so soon, but he continued, “I’ve been talking to Tyrion, and we think I could do a week in King’s Landing each month, meeting with suppliers and so on, but I’m really needed here the other three weeks. I could probably do a weekend though, maybe the one in the middle?”

Brienne stared at him, confused. Had she missed part of the conversation? Was The Casterly opening another branch in King’s Landing?

“I’m not sure I understand,” she said, taking the bottle from him and opening it, before pouring it into the two flutes on the table.

Jaime breathed in deeply, then huffed out his breath, looking up at her. “I want to go to King’s Landing to woo you,” he replied. “I know that you’re not really interested in me the way I am in you, but I would like you to give me a chance.”

She shook her head in shock, and his head drooped a little.

“No,” she said, then realised she had said entirely the wrong thing. “Wait, Jaime. First of all, why would you need to go to King’s Landing? And why would you want to woo me? And who woos anybody anyway these days? And –” she took a deep breath, her courage on the line – “why would you think I was not interested?”

“Well first of all,” he replied, “can we dispense with all the numbers please? I feel I’m losing track.”

She nodded.

“I want to woo you because you are the most interesting person I have met in years, and I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss you. Not to mention you have very long legs, and you have excellent survival skills in cold weather conditions.” He nudged her legs under the table, linking one of his legs with hers. “And I don’t really know what I’m doing, so woo seems like a suitably vague word that could encompass anything from evening swims and casual dinners like this to five-star restaurants and dancing.”

“But –” she said, stopping helplessly.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Woo implies some sort of – intent. Serious, long term, romantic intent. More than friends, or date, or ‘see’.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Yes?”

“Yes, Brienne Tarth, I have serious, long-term, romantic intent towards you.”

“But you can’t,” she wailed.

He looked abashed. “You said there was nobody else. I even asked you. And if you’re not interested, you just have to tell me and I’ll stop.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just – look.”

“At what?”

“At me!”

He purred. “I like doing that.” His eyes roamed across her face, down her body – stopping briefly at the draped neckline of her top, before continuing to her legs and then back to her face. His smile was lopsided and affectionate, with a touch of heat behind it.

“But I’m ugly!”

He scowled. “I won’t have anyone saying that,” he said. “Besides, I hear I’m pretty enough for two.”

She threw her napkin at him.

“Well?” he said.

She looked at him enquiringly.

“This is where you say ‘thank you kind ser, please come to King’s Landing, I would very much like to be wooed by you.’. Or perhaps, ‘I am honoured by your attentions but I do not return your sentiments so can we please never speak of this again?’”

She huffed a little, then rolled her eyes. “Thank you kind ser, I would very much like to be wooed by you, but there is no need to go to King’s Landing?”

His eyes lit up as he stared at her, as though to burn her up with the strength of his gaze. “And why not?”

She smiled. “Our cover at Winterfell Systems is important, even when we solve problems ahead of schedule. I’ll be here for notionally another 25 weeks as your wellbeing consultant. Otherwise, people might start to get sus—”

She broke off her sentence not because it was finished, but because Jaime had lunged across the table, capturing the back of her head in his working hand, kissing her softly. She felt his warmth spreading through her body, longed to press herself against him, revelled in the feel of his smooth lips pressing and sliding against hers.

He broke the kiss for a moment, resting his forehead against hers. “Is this OK?”

She smiled at him then, giving him the full force of her radiance.

“It’s more than OK,” she replied, moving to kiss him once more.

Some time later, Brienne was seated on her couch, with Jaime draped across it, his head on a pillow on her lap, legs in the air hanging over the end. He smiled lazily up at her as she raked her fingers through his hair.

“So you’re my wellbeing consultant, wench?” he asked with a grin.

“Technically, I work for The Casterly, not just you specifically.”

He nuzzled his head against her belly. “I think that you should make my wellbeing your top priority. A sort of personal mission. Just as I have done for you.”

She sighed. “Jaime, in what way have you made my wellbeing your top priority?”

He sat up, reaching out his left hand to enumerate his examples. “Well firstly, I saved you a seat on the plane.”

“You didn’t know who I was, Jaime.”

He shrugged. “I figured I’d know by the time we reached Lannisport, if I asked enough questions. So yes, seat saved. And secondly, I fed you on the plane.” Brienne huffed, but knew that it would be fruitless to argue. “Thirdly,” he continued, “I moved you to our second best suite instead of the staff accommodation that we had set aside for you. I would have moved you to the best suite but Aunt Genna would have sliced me up and sent me to Feastfyres for the pigs to devour.” He shuddered theatrically. “Fifthly –”

“You missed fourthly,” Brienne said, carefully trying to keep her amusement out of her voice.

“Fourthly, I had food sent to you. And I have eaten breakfast with you every day since you arrived. That’s probably number 5.”

She stopped him before he could steer the conversation back to the pig in the coolroom, but it was though someone had flicked a switch inside Jaime. He had not seemed unhappy before, but now he glowed with delight. She pinched herself surreptitiously, to be sure that she wasn’t dreaming, then repeated her mantra to herself: No tail, no gills, no boner—oh. Jaime Lannister was definitely – and more than a little – glad to see her. Blushing, she hoped he hadn’t noticed the direction of her gaze.

He leaned forward. “I want to kiss you again, Brienne.” She nodded, mutely, but he continued, “but I don’t know quite where you want me to stop.” She swallowed nervously as he continued, “So if we do something that you don’t like, or that you don’t want, or that you would rather not do yet, just tell me.” He reddened a little. “And if we do something that you like, tell me that too? I told you in the cooler, there’s only been Cersei for me before. I’m not sure that I’m very good at –”

“Jaime,” Brienne said quietly, “Stop talking and kiss me again.”

\---ooooo---

**BRONN BLACKWATER** never came out of prison. He was killed in prison with a home-made shiv at the behest of his sister. Nobody attended his funeral.

**CERSEI BLACKWATER** was jailed for seven years for her part in the robberies at The Casterly. While she was there, additional information about her business activities came to light. She was re-tried and convicted on five counts of theft, incitement of theft (twice), knowingly receiving stolen property, and recruitment for the purposes of illegal activity. Even the prison psychiatrist has not convinced her that she is not a Baratheon, despite copious evidence to the contrary. She is currently serving six concurrent sentences.

**HODOR** continues to hold the door at The Casterly. He has been promised that the door will be his for life.

**HOT PIE** is working on his fifth Michelin star. The pigs at Feastfyres have never been more contented.

**JON SNOW** continues as the Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks, although he prefers to wear black than gold. He has plans to put in for transfer to White Harbour when Lyanna Mormont retires, if his Personal Assistant will let him. He still knows nothing.

**LANCEL HILL** discovered religion six months after being found guilty of many counts of theft. He now resides on the Quiet Isle, which he is unlikely to leave.

**POD** refused the full time employment that Jaime offered him, but remains The Casterly’s recommended personal concierge. Pod-Assist is now on version 2.12.31 but the bug with the sender’s location persists. Jaime tells him that it is in fact a Feature.

**TYRION LANNISTER** is running The Casterly and making sure that he appears alongside Brienne at every opportunity.

**YGRITTE WILDLING** has moved into the public service and works as Jon Snow’s Personal Assistant.

**JAIME LANNISTER** asked Brienne to marry him a week after Lancel Hill was arrested. She rolled her eyes at him. He continued to ask her three times a week until she said yes, four months later. Hot Pie had been planning their wedding feast since the coolroom incident.

**BRIENNE TARTH** married Jaime Lannister six months to the day after she arrived in Lannisport. She is the vice president in charge of Winterfell Systems’ new Lannisport office. Her wedding gift to Jaime was a life-size replica of Duncan the Tall encased in carbonite and wearing a pig. Jaime’s gift to her was a custom t-shirt that read “I came to Lannisport from King’s Landing and I Lannded a King.”

The merman ice bucket sits in the bedroom of their apartment at The Casterly, beside a fern that Jaime brought home one day. Brienne says that the mermen remind her of him. Tail, gills, and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me through the week. This was a one-shot that turned into a story, and therefore into something of an endurance challenge. 
> 
> Happy J/B week to you! Please poke around and look at the other work that has been contributed to this collection - there are some absolutely spectacular stories.


End file.
